


A Ridiculous Ghost Story

by laraF



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, As it should be, BAMF Lydia, Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Crack, Deaucalion is the epitome of nonchalance, Derek and Scott are unbelievable, Don't take it seriously, Erica and Boyd lives, Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Peter Hale is too sexy to be true, Post Season 2, Sexual References, THEY'RE GOOD TOGETHER, a sex motel with way too old bondage equipment, and Stiles noticed, because they're awesome, crazy action scenes, everyone needs a zombie werewolf uncle, i'm officially crazy, okay, on fluffy fluffiness, please, ridiculous violence, seriously, this story is impossible, too much alpha-testosterone in one place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 09:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laraF/pseuds/laraF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new supernatural creature is wreaking havoc in Beacon Hills. Stiles tries to care, really. But it’s extremely hard (...) with Derek and Scott regularly leaving him alone with Peter. So they form their own little agenda.</p>
<p>
  <em>"He skipped school with the help of his father's falsified signature (AweStilesnessWorksTM) to camp in a rundown love motel with Peter (Stiles didn't even know that such a thing in Beacon Hills existed). Strictly for professional reasons, of course. The doorman still looked like he thought they were going to film amateur porn with all the equipment they carried on them."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Ridiculous Ghost Story

**Author's Note:**

> Beta? What's that? (... sorry)
> 
> This is for fun, not money. Pff.

 

“So, you're basically stating that you don't want to be an alpha again,” Stiles said dubiously watching Peter from the corner of his eyes. The zombie-wolf was sprawled out on Derek's only couch and Stiles just couldn't _not_ notice how unfairly attractive he looked even in a lazy sloth-like position. His obscene v-neck was almost translucent, stretching thin on his stupid muscles. _Hales_. Stiles let out a self-deprecating snort.

  
Peter didn't lift his eyes from the iPad he busied himself with since his nephew and idiotic former beta dragged their dysfunctional pack out to chase the thing which turned people to empty, soulless shells left and right. While Peter waved them off in a shamelessly disinterested way Stiles fought tooth and nail (quite literally – Derek somehow didn't appreciate the immediately fading scratches on his arm. Stiles panicked for only a moment but Peter distracted him with a silky chuckle and a murmured comment about him being a kitten. Stiles hissed angrily which didn't help the situation, not at all.) Finally Isaac had enough and simply left. Scott seemed torn but Boyd solved the problem with a quiet declaration:

  
“This creature, whatever it is, it’s exceptionally dangerous. You're too fragile for this. And I don't want you to get hurt. Not again.”

  
That was weirdly touching. Stiles could practically hear Peter rolling his eyes in the background but he didn't care. Erica kissed him on the cheek and with a saucy wink she grabbed Boyd's and Scott's arm and they took off after Derek and Isaac. That certain case when he freed and ushered them out from the Argent's lovely torture chamber (willingly sacrificing himself in the process) seemed to chain the violent duo to his person. It inspired a loyalty rivaling the bond they shared with Derek. They really went out of their way to ensure Stiles's well being – protecting him, providing him with food and company and warm wolf-hugs. It was sweet but in instances like this he felt like a locked up albeit spoiled princess.

  
How was it fair that he still only felt a fond kind of exasperation? And a barely suppressed itch to _do_ something. They held no respect toward his ADHD, the mother-henning buggers. He decided to avenge their treatment with raiding the pack's food supply.

  
“Derek has a pack of Reese's in his nightstand. Behind his Jane Austen novels,” Peter remarked offhandedly. Stiles blinked in surprise.

  
“Derek and Jane Austen?” A sinister smile appeared on his face. Oh, what a wonderful ammunition against the sourwolf. He felt an irresistible urge to cackle evilly. So he did it then the reality of Peter's words crashed down on him. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “How do you know? Better yet, how do you know what I'm looking for?”

  
Peter smirked, his electric blue eyes never leaving the screen.

  
“You're welcome,” he replied airily.

  
“Okay, please spare me from answering Mr. McCreepy Creepeteer. Werewolves...” Stiles shuddered but gladly jumped at the opportunity, deeply disturbing uncles notwithstanding.

  
“You're disgustingly satisfied with yourself,” Peter noted when Stiles triumphantly dumped several packs of chips, candies and biscuits on the table in front of him. Stiles shrugged and shoved the Reese's package in his face.

  
“Everyone needs a hobby. It's their fault; they never let me run with them. Besides, don't tell me you don't laugh your perfect ass off every time I taunt Derek.”

  
Peter wiggled his aforementioned body part. He popped a candy in his mouth with a suggestive leer.

  
“You think I have a perfect ass?” he fluttered his eyelashes. Stiles gagged.

  
“Jesus, stop that or I take it back.”

  
“You're loss.”

  
The next ten minutes they spent in a frighteningly companionable silence consuming all the snacks Stiles found. Maybe he wasn't a wolf but they'll never underestimate his appetite anymore, that's for sure.

  
“This is bullshit,” Stiles said between huge gulps of his soda.

  
Peter raised a judging, 'I've-always-known-you're-batshit-crazy eyebrow. How could the Hale's communicate whole speeches through their eyebrows only? Stiles was most curious.

  
“Care to elaborate?”

  
“You're just waiting for the good opportunity. Okay, you won't hurt Derek because you love him...”

  
Peter let out a halfhearted, indignant choking sort of sound. Stiles rolled his eyes.

  
“... but that doesn't mean you don't want that power. That _spark_ which makes you sharper, stronger.” He leaned forward with a challenging expression.

  
Peter contemplated his words, his face not betraying any emotions.

  
“You have no idea how right you are,” he admitted quietly in the end. His smile sent goosebumps down Stiles's back. There were definitely fangs in it. His jaw actually dropped in surprise at the sincerity. Peter's eyes lingered on his open mouth. “As a matter of fact I _crave_ the _spark._ And I always get what I want,” the werewolf finished intensely.

  
The strained silence started to suffocate Stiles. He swallowed; licked his suddenly dry lips. His brain went into overdrive and he was sure that Scott (or Derek, or _both_ ) was going to murder him later when they get wind of this but he already made up his mind. Weeks ago, actually.

  
“I help you.” Stiles's throat felt like he ate sandpaper. His voice wasn't any better but it totally worth it. Peter recoiled; amazement written all over his flabbergasted face.

  
“Excuse me?”

  
“There's no chance in hell that I'd let you roam around unsupervised. After your rampage last year and what you did to Lydia? Nope. Not happening, dude.”

  
“Don't call me dude.”

  
“I don't trust you not to slaughter everyone who unfortunately wanders in your way,” Stiles continued unperturbed. “We find a shitty man of an alpha, we track it, trap it, kill it. Preferably not saying a word to Derek. Or Scotty. Mainly Scotty. I love the guy like a brother but I'm afraid he won't understand my intentions with the whole shebang.” Stiles's voice dripped from heavy sarcasm.

  
“What an Earth do you mean?” Peter asked dryly. His caution made Stiles grin like a maniac.

  
“It's called prevention. I help you get your almighty alpha-hood back so you won't antagonize Derek and Scott and if you somehow still won't give up on getting rid of them I'll set you on fire. Again. Deal?”

  
Peter actually paled a little at that. Stiles took it as a sign of success.

  
“Deal.”

  
“Sooo, first things first, you could tell me what are you ogling at for hours now?”

  
Peter still held the iPad in his left hand. He flashed a shark-like smile at Stiles's question, like he waited for it.

  
“A live-feed security recording of Beacon Hills First National Bank.”

  
Stiles leapt over the table with flailing limbs, sending the empty papers flying around He narrowly missed Peter's eyes with his elbow.

  
“I knew you were up to no good! How did you get this? Oh, wait. No, no, no, no,” he groaned. “Tell me you didn't play with poor Danny's emotions.”

  
“What do you want me to say? Anyway, Derek gave me the idea and I can't say that Mr Mahealani is not one very fine young man with a hell of stamina.”

  
“Ugh.” Stiles looked a bit ashen and felt a strange mix of nausea, anger and morbid envy.

  
“These lacrosse players are not as bad as I initially thought...”

  
“You didn't!”

  
“For the love of God, Stiles. Of course not. I just flirted with him. I'm not a monster,” Peter indicated tentatively.

  
“Haha. Yeah, no. Why?”

  
“Well, theoretically humans are more inclined to address any kind of supernatural...”

  
“Not that, dumb-ass. Why the cameras? Who's there? And don't you think that we're done with this you-evilly-mojoing-Danny-business because we're sooo not.”

  
“Being hypocritical a bit?”

  
Stiles sent him a _look_. Peter sighed with put-upon weariness.

  
“When did you cease to be fun, hmm?” He shifted in his seat, his excitement palpable. “Alphas. A whole pack of them.”

  
Stiles hummed noncommittally. He bit down his lower lip distracting Peter a bit.

  
“Must you flirt with everyone?” he asked, tone suffering.

  
“Your jealousy is cute,” Peter cooed.

  
“Wait. What? Argh! You're awful,” Stiles grouched but that didn't stop zombi-uncle from snickering.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
Scott stared horrified. They stumbled upon a woman with black, unseeing eyes meandering around aimlessly in her nightgown. Clearly she wasn't herself anymore. Just like the previous six victims, all in the last two weeks; the first weeks of their junior year. It was terrible. The first one, a mere kid happened to cross Boyd's path when he patrolled the perimeter of the preserve. They tried everything but he hadn't been responsive so far. Deaton could only guess the nature of the attacker but one thing was for sure; he never personally met with anything like it before. That was enough for a healthy amount of worry if someone asked him. The man knew a _lot_ about both worlds. Him to be clueless... Well. It wasn't a good sign.

  
They split up. Derek went for the woods, Erica and Boyd searched the southern parts of the city while him and Isaac got the eastern regions. All for nothing, of course. It was nerve-racking to say the least. They didn't know what to look for, except for any _unnatural_ signs. When Derek briefed them Stiles and Peter snorted in unison at the word and Scott wasn't even miffed about it. Their whole life was thoroughly _unnatural_.

  
Isaac gently held the woman's upper arm; that was the only thing keeping her in one place. Scott texted Lydia to pick them up. They wanted to drop the woman off at the sheriff's station, just like they did with the others. That was the only sensible solution but since Stiles's father had no clue about them being the town's supernatural guarding corps they had to tread carefully. It'd be extremely suspicious if Scott regularly showed his face with a random amnesiac stranger in their PJ's in the middle of the night.

  
When Lydia arrived they packed the woman into the car with ease. She was very obedient. Lydia pursed her glossy red lips, smoothed down her dark blue dress and sat behind the steering wheel without a word. Her high heels tapped an impatient rhythm.

  
“We have to find what causes this.” Scott insisted for approximately the hundredth time in a week. He sat next to the woman in the back. Her head was turned to the window, most likely watching the blurred, dark scenery without actually seeing it. Lydia frowned. Isaac scraped his nose.

  
“Not that I don't agree or anything but how the hell are we supposed to do that?” Isaac asked.

  
“I have no idea” Scott grunted.

  
“What I don't understand is the lack of similarities in the victims,” Lydia joined the conversation in a clinical voice. “You should get your hands on their files. We're painfully lacking vital information here.”

  
“I don't want to involve Stiles. It's too dangerous and he's only human,” Scott sighed.

  
Lydia flattened the gas pedal. Her knuckles turned white and it felt like the temperature in the car lessened significantly.

  
“So you're worried about _dear_ Stiles but never mind that I'm human too.”

  
“But you're terrifying,” Isaac whimpered voicing Scott's exact thoughts.

  
“True,” Scott beckoned seriously. “You're something, Lydia. You're immune to the bite. Hell, you brought back Jackson with the power of your _love,_ ” he whisper-shouted not wanting to disturb the woman. It was redundant care from his part – the woman could probably dream through a third world war. “You knocked us all out with _wolfsbane punch_ under Peter's control so forgive me if I'm not that concerned about you.”

  
Lydia huffed but the corners of her lips quirked up.

  
“I'll send a message to Stiles. We need those files and he _will_ smuggle them out.”

  
She didn't have to add _or else_...

  
Scott shared a meaningful look with Isaac. They didn't envy Stiles. Not one bit.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
**From Strawberry Menace:** _I don't care where are you or what are you doing. You come back to Beacon Hills ASAP or I'm gonna go after you. I will skin you alive, Stiles. This is important. Text me PRONTO with the earliest time you can arrive here._

_  
_ Now, Stiles loved Lydia. Not with the inane monkey love and goddess worshiping he used to (that showdown with Jackson killed off any vain hope of his) but as a good friend. That all said and done he had absolutely no incentive to 'go back'. He skipped school with the help of his father's falsified signature (AweStilesnessWorksTM) to camp in a rundown love motel with Peter (Stiles didn't even know that such a thing in Beacon Hills existed). Strictly for professional reasons, of course. The doorman still looked like he thought they were going to film amateur porn with all the equipment they carried on them. He didn't seem moved though and Stiles couldn't decide if that was scary or cool. Maybe both.

  
And at any rate, it was a Thursday (or was it Friday already?) and his father picked up his good old habit of only coming back home to sleep. On occasion.

  
The motel was next to Beacon Hills National's closed building; the Alpha pack's current residence. Peter knew a lot about them; their leader particularly. Deaucalion, his late sister's old friend, who lost every semblance of sanity when Gerard burnt out his eyes with wolfsbane arrows. Stiles couldn't in good conscience blame the guy. All of them should establish a Gerard Argent Hate Club. It sounded extremely therapeutic. Anyway, this Deuc dude was infamous about his monstrous strength. Stiles kindly pointed it out to Peter that they couldn't go after him for that reason but Peter didn't want to either. His main target was Kali, the woman with an unsettling foot-fetish and a cleverly concealed kind spirit. At least Peter said she was the least tainted hence her power wouldn't corrupt his soul that much. (That was laughable from so many points but Stiles loved his life thank you very much and unusually for him stayed quiet for once.) Stiles had earnest doubts regarding that after watching a video about her slashing up some random dude with toenails only, but whatever.

  
**To Strawberry Menace:** _Sweet Jesus, Lyds. 'm busy. Just tell me whadaya want 'n' I do wat I can._

  
**From Strawberry Menace:** _YOU'RE MISSING FOR TWO DAYS NOW!_

  
**To Strawberry Menace:** _Is it official? Doubt it b/c pops would've called every SWAT force in by now. Besides 'm in the middle of doin' a favor for ya'all, so._

  
**From Strawberry Menace:** _You're unbelievable._

  
**To Strawberry Menace:** _True, but last time I remember Derek wasn't in need of the squishy human here._

  
Stiles scoffed with mild irritation. Peter glanced up from his computer and raised an eyebrow.

  
“I'm guessing it's Lydia.”

  
Stiles only grunted. His phone chimed again.

  
**From Strawberry Menace:** _The soul-eater's victims. They must have a common factor but to figure it out the case files are essential._

  
“Oh, by the way the mountain ash we ordered? Arriving in an hour. I gave them this address,” Peter added. His eyes shined with mirth and he dodged effortlessly the little marble fertility statue Stiles grabbed form the chest beside him and threw his way.

  
“Dig out the case files of the ghost, would you, asshat?”

  
“Yes, honey,” Peter saluted and opened up the giant ghost-folder in Stiles's hard drive.

  
“I presume you know Lydia's e-mail.” Stiles didn't bother phrasing it as a question.

  
“Naturally.”

  
**To Strawberry Menace:** Check your mails.

  
There was a moment peace when Peter went back chatting with Danny and Stiles fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt.

  
**From Strawberry Menace:** YOU'RE WITH PETER?! Enough. I'm calling you. You better answer.

  
Stiles winced and internally readied himself for the volume. It proved to be a wise move.

  
“YOU COMPLETE MORON! Have you been sitting on this neat little package from the start? People were, ARE DYING, STILES!”

  
“Hello to you, too. And no, they're not. Folder 1743, Philadelphia. All written down crisply. With attached translations where the original jumbles up into almost extinct bullshit. And gross, nightmare inducing pictures. Those artists had it pretty bad, imo.”

  
Peter chose that moment to get up, stretch his every fucking limb with mischievous intent no doubt and go for a walk. Stiles glared after his stupidly perfect form and tried not to think about how it was an excellent chance to watch _that ass_.

  
“STILES!”

  
“You were saying?”

  
Stiles could hear Lydia breathing heavily, like any time now she would spit fire. He saw a possibility there.

  
“Nice talk and all, but I really don't have time for this.”

  
“Stiles?!” Lydia shrieked and Stiles had to put a one meter distance between his ear and the phone.

  
“Listen, I told Scott _and_ Derek about it, okay? At the beginning, too. They were busy arguing about more pressing matters like who is in charge of the TV remote or something. I patiently waited while they're screamed nonsense at each other amongst the little betas' cheering and then tossed the meticulously arranged ghost 101, which I'm very proud of fyi, on Derek's desk. I'm not responsible for their inability to behave like adults once in a while. I'm not their keeper, Lyds.”

  
The other side became deathly silent. A three-metal-box-tower stepped into the room and it had to come closer for Stiles to realize that it was Peter carrying his mountain ash stack. He pulled a thumb up in the werewolf's general direction then said to Lydia:

  
“It was that two in the first place who didn't want me in.” He had an inkling that Scott's intentions were pure as a sacrificial lamb and just wanted to shield him from the worst of it but at the same time _he_ was the one who asked for his awesome research-skills, so. Not to mention Derek who tolerated him like a gnu would a fly. Hardly and in constant vexation.

  
“You know, it just popped into my mind that Allison and I planned a girl's weekend,” Lydia said calmly but Stiles heard the wrath in her otherwise melodious voice. He grinned. He imagined Lydia grinning too. “So I'm just going to read this now then forget about it, okay, sweetie?”

  
“You're a goddess!”

  
“Obviously.” There was a short pause, then: “Oh, and Peter?” Peter looked at Stiles in amusement. “You hurt Stiles and I'm gonna lit you on fire. Again. Is that understood?” Stiles chortled and it was a miracle that he could squeeze in:

  
“Say hi to Allison, would you?” As soon as he hung up uncontrolled laughter erupted from his chest. Peter pretended to be offended.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
“You know, I still think this is hilarious.”

  
One twin – Ethan or Aiden or who the hell – sat in a chair in their hotel room. His red eyes and furious expression remained ineffective though, because of the thin mountain ash line Stiles applied. Peter pinched his ass as a retort. The twin sneered.

  
“I'd say to go get a room but I'm already late with that.” His eyes lingered on the black walls and the massive white four-poster bed with its faded silken sheets; then traveled from the mirror with cheap carvings on the ceiling to the steel pole in the middle and a suspiciously innocuous looking black wardrobe. Stiles checked the thing – it was filled with handcuffs, dildos, ropes and whips. He shut it with a violent click before Peter could get any ideas. Taking his luck into account he was _that_ type of guy.

  
“You, the big bad wolf couldn't catch the even bigger and worse one without my help. I'm awesome!

  
“I could still beat you unconscious and finish this up on my own,” Peter snarled but he didn't fool Stiles. There was no edge to it and God, he saw Peter angry before.

  
“These threats from the Hale's...” Stiles run his hand through his unruly hair aiming his words to the twin. “They get old real fast. Because Derek? Not the most creative guy in the world with all the slamming but Peter here? Who's undoubtedly more dangerous simply because he's intelligent as hell? He's all talk with me.”

  
“Can we get to the point?” the twin whined. “I don't care about your love life! This is the worst torture ever!”

  
“Mmm, but this is the best part,” Peter murmured. “You're not here for torturing, haven't you noticed? Deaucalion didn't choose you for your brain, did he?” The twin blushed and sputtered. Peter tilted his head to the side like he was listening to something. The twin's face suddenly morphed into an ugly smile. He wasn't a very nice piece to begin with but now? Stiles grimaced.

  
“You're as good as dead,” the twin spat venomously. They didn't pay attention.

  
“Ready?” Peter asked.

  
Stiles firmly snatched his mountain ash baseball bat and nodded.

  
“The party is on.”

  
Everything became a little chaotic after that. The twin's other half kicked the door in with a muscle-tower at his side. Behind them was Kali, already snarling and flashing her fancy red eyes. Then the momentum all three seemed to possess came to an abrupt halt quite ridiculously when they smeared up as one on the mountain ash wall that separated them from Stiles and Peter. Stiles would've laughed but in that moment Derek's unmistakable roar sounded from below and Erica showed up at the door, Boyd hot on her heels. The other twin didn't hesitate with attacking them – and successfully knocking down Erica while at it. Kali poked the wall experimentally and Jackson, that hapless sod showed his face (late, mind you) to do his part but understandably he stopped and hesitated at the sight. Peter facepalmed and that was hilarious but at the same time Ennis swung into action tackling Scott, because Jackson (still the self-centered git) jumped out of the way. The whole commotion sounded like mythical creatures were battling with each other in the middle of a war-zone. That wasn't even far from the truth. Stiles wanted to break the wall and not at the same time but eventually – following three seconds of excruciating mind-work – he gave his vote to the first option. He soon regretted it. Ennis closed on him like a bulldozer and an arrow flew in perilous closeness to Peter's head. (Who hovered by Stiles's side like a hound protecting his master. And that was a damn pleasing image.) Stiles's heart stopped for a moment but he didn't have much time to ponder about the feelings swarming his heart. He jabbed his bat in between Ennis's ribs. It was a good tactic if he wanted to piss him off even more despite the near-unbearable pain the wood caused. The monstrosity hadn't the time to rip him to shreds though; Derek latched onto his neck and Stiles felt immense gratitude. Maybe he won't pick on him with those romantic Austen novels after all.

  
A couple of minutes passed maybe but Erica was unconscious, Jackson was choked by Kali, Derek and Scott were down and Ennis found his new chew toy in Boyd, his other hand incessantly inching toward Stiles.

  
Stiles didn't notice. He had to turn his back on them because of a peculiar sound. A sound he hasn't heard in real life yet but studied it profoundly.

  
The shrill cry of a ghost.

  
One moment he finally got to see it; flying toward him at incredible speed. The other, Peter shielded him with his body shouting 'no' with adorable desperation. Peter collapsed and Stiles hit the hell out of the ghost all the while fluently swearing in polish.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
“Why is Jackson here?” Lydia demanded. A quickly passing nurse looked at her like she was antichrist and shushed furiously. Lydia didn't bat a lash.

  
“Babe...”

  
“Don't you dare 'babe' me you dimwitted fool! You were the one...

  
Stiles tuned out the babbling of his pack. They all somehow ended up in Peter's room. Peter, who was still out cold. Not that it was a long time since they stopped fighting. Deaucalion came by because the noises grated on his sensitive ears. One mild glance laced with disappointment was enough for his crazy kids to leave them alone for good. He briefly looked at Stiles – on his knees, on Peter's side – suggested to the twin in the chair to use the window at his back for escape (said twin blushed so hard, he almost burst out in flames) then left without more fuss.

  
At least the doorman didn't call the police on them. (That was all Derek slipping a couple hundred dollars in his pocket. When Stiles heard that he really gave up on tormenting him. Jane Austen was awesome anyway.) Now, that would've been an awkward father-son conversation.

  
It came to light that Danny was the one to fuck up their magnificent plan. Well, Jackson. Danny was a ball of naive sincerity who wanted to gush about his best douchenuzzle friend finally contacting him. He told Lydia and Jackson must have been very unfiltered concerning Stiles's and Peter's plans – Stiles officially banned him from any further contributions in the future – because it spread like wildfire amongst all the pack-members at record speed. Gossips, the lot of them.

  
It wasn't up for consideration from there. Erica managed to storm out before Scott and Derek gaining the most reliable (and hot-headed) friend of the year award.

  
An almost unnoticeable movement caught Stiles' attention and he was next to Peter in an instant. Peter, whose startling blue eyes blinked twice then in a flurry of movements he was up kissing Stiles with all the vigor he got. Stiles reciprocated with all the enthusiasm of a healthy teenage boy.

  
The chatter in the background died a sudden death.

  
“Stiles!” Scott's pathetic whine broke the silence. The room filled up with catcalls, grumbling, 'awww'ing and bitching sounds. Peter held onto Stiles's shirt like it was a lifeline.

  
“We failed.” Stiles smiled. “You're still a beta.”

  
“The ghost?” Peter asked huskily. Stiles swallowed but of course Derek had to ruin his (overly heated) moment with a sarcastic remark:

  
“You know that Stiles wouldn't have died from its touch, right?”

  
“Wow, did you figure that out on your own?” Lydia's scathing retort left the alpha (and Scott and the three beta) awkwardly blushing.

  
“Stilinski beat him to... death?” came the uncertain answer from Jackson.

  
“Good,” was all Peter said before sealing his lips on Stiles's. Again.

 

 

The End

 

 


End file.
